


cut my hair

by squishychan



Series: lgbtq+ svt [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Transphobia, Self-Hatred, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-22 14:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishychan/pseuds/squishychan
Summary: boys don't wear skirtsbut she's not a boy





	cut my hair

**Author's Note:**

> //tw internalized transphobia and thoughts of self-injury/references to scars//
> 
> the title is from "this is home" by cavetown  
> it's a v relatable song for me

Her shoulders are too fucking broad, jawline too goddamn  _masculine,_ her Adam's apple too prominent. She runs her fingertips over it, and god is it hard to resist the urge to just rip it out. In theory, that's impossible, and maybe it's for the best. The vision of red wetness coating her well-manicured crescent moons, like cherry scented chapstick, a sickly, homemade version of her treasured nail polish.

 

She stops herself there, the pale, inner skin of her forearm itching, crisscrossing pink scars muddling an otherwise perfect canvas. Begging, no, _pleading_ , desperate for her to take and accept. The taunting, mocking voice inside her head whispering, manipulating her like a skilled puppeteer. Weaving beautiful, intricate tapestries, only to destroy them within seconds of their birth, tangling the threads together. A discombobulated heap of frayed strings and whatnot left on the marble floor, moonlight casting shadows on her whitewashed walls.

 

But she doesn't give in, even as the shiny, gleaming scissors glare up at her from their spot on the edge of the sink. A few stray droplets of water collecting on the cool metal, hushed murmurs telling her pick them up and press them against her not so dainty wrists, hell, maybe even go for her exposed larynx, _to just fucking do it_.

 

They don't win, but the damage still dances. Her fingers shaking as she snips lock after lock of dark hair, strands dropping into the sink weightlessly, nose runny and tears falling. Hiccuping as she's left with a mess of uneven, choppy curls, the long hair she'd worked so hard to grow out now gone. The numerous arguments with the stylists and managers worth not a single penny, her effort reduced to scraps, fruitless and barren. Stubborn nature practically wasted.

 

Trembling, she turns to see herself in the mirror, something she's never been particularly fond of doing. Hating what stared back at her, someone she recognized, but didn't know. Her breath catches in her throat when she makes eye contact with  _him_. His boyish looks making her stomach churn, the way he's just watching her with ruined makeup, eyeliner smudged, mascara staining his cheeks in muddy rivulets, foundation surprisingly still intact.

 

He's hideous, an ugly thing, a disgrace for being male yet still parading himself around like a fucking slut. All dolled up for someone who will never, _ever_ , love him. The laughingstock for all of China to point at, hateful jabs and comments impaling his slender form. So obviously trying to be something he's simply not, and will never be, despite his miserable attempts to succeed in doing so. Because no matter how hard he strives for such perfection, he will always be a man.

 

A broken wails escapes her, and she reaches once more for the twin blades, but before she can inflict the harm she deserves, the door busts open. And the next thing she knows, she's being cradled in the distinct warmth of another human, a hand rubbing soothing circles into her back. A warm voice in her ear, though she can't exactly process what's being said, too overwhelmed to focus really.

 

"I've got you baby girl, I'm here, I love you." Minghao reassures, and though the words are rather simple, she finds immense comfort in them. Body going limp in his hold, her feelings still there, but lessened just the slightest. Tears drying, the air becoming easier to breathe, the knots in her stomach uncoiling, the flowers blooming in her trachea withering away. 

 

Slowly she pulls away, wiping hastily at her splotchy face, a small smile pulling on her lips. "Thank you Hao, I love you too~" She giggles, burying herself in the crook of his neck. She feels safe, and while it may not last forever, it's something she'll always treasure. He feels like home, which one could say is strange, but she could honestly care less about what they think. He's hers and she is his, and that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> p r o j e c t i n g ??? never heard of it


End file.
